The Blade

The blade is a broom that sweeps you from heaven

Coming in hot at hour eleven

Everything ends, all the friends you made

In one fell swoop are sent to their graves

A chip off the old chopping block, the lot

Ghosts of sunken ships still harbored to the dock

No sign, no warning, nay, hardly a rumor

Limbs cut out like work for inhumers

Feed the machine its unjust desserts

As if this massacre wasn’t thoroughly rehearsed

What’s next?

Necks

What’s next?

Necks

They brought a shaman to a ghost town

The parasite is the host now

It’s sharing its screen

It’s rescinding a dream

One day there’s nothing but light and love

The next you are stormed by the sight of blood

Circus comes to town, the clowns are hangmen

Their minds are callous and nothing can change them

They service the steel at gravity’s whim

Which leaves the gallowfolk scattering thin

All bearing witness to terrible trauma

All in the name of Nazarene comma

Yesterday you heard hymns

Today you hear manifestations of sin

All falling prey to lethal logistics

Your sentience only amounts to statistics

Cruel, cold and calculated

The trials and tribulations

Entirely invalidated

Die worthless

The blade takes no sides, only heads

The blade takes no sides, only heads

What’s next?

The nexus of optimistic breath

And brutal heartless death

No sides, only heads

Lifelines, spinal cords, communication

Respect, vision, the due elation

Cut

All cut

Cut from a cancerous capitalistic cloth

Cluelessly clamoring atavistic sloths

Unwarranted plaque for the teeth in the grass

On hostile terms released from the pack

Some call it a wasteland

Some call it an office

Some call it a cubicle

Some call it a coffin

Doesn’t matter which side you’re on

It only takes heads

Survivors, bite the bullet

And play dead

Just play dead